


Karkat and Dave in the Big Apple

by Flagellum



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Cultural Differences, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Past Child Abuse, Roommates, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24532579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flagellum/pseuds/Flagellum
Summary: A year after escaping Alternia, Karkat Vantas winds up rooming with Dave Strider in New York City. They’re both nervous and lonely, but together they blunder their way through poorly placed kitchen appliances, cultural differences, friendship, and the confusing feelings that come with those things.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 72
Kudos: 174





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> God what a dumb title. It's slow burn time baby.

You fumble for the right key and see that your hands are shaking. _Fuck._ You take a deep breath before wiggling the key into the lock on the bright red door. 

You shift your duffle bag on your shoulder and tell yourself it’s just the unfamiliar environment. Who wouldn’t be nervous moving into a new apartment, independent for the first time? It’s not an insignificant milestone.

But you can’t ignore the massive, troll-shaped shadow that has been looming in your mind for over a month now. It’s _him_ , your nameless, faceless roommate. 

You’ve never lived with anyone but Bro before, and you’re honestly terrified. 

At your old place, you were always on edge, never really felt at ease in your own home, but at least you knew you could manage it. Here, with this new person, new _troll_ , anything could happen. 

Not to mention you’re god awful at first impressions. As well as middle and last impressions. 

Even if you’ll inevitably fuck this up, you don’t want to be a jumpy weirdo straight out of the gate. You breath in and out slowly in a shitty attempt to calm yourself and are about to turn the key in the lock when someone clears their throat behind you.

You jump the fuck out of your skin, let out a totally uncool little yelp, and whip around. 

“Fuck! Sorry!”

“Shit. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Goddamn it! Are all humans so fucking jumpy?”

You vaguely process that the troll in front of you continues to angrily mutter. Something about how _of course_ no matter how many times he’s gone over this in his thinkpan, he just _had_ to go and butcher this worse than a wriggler with no legs in the brooding cavern trials without even opening his dumb as fuck mouth.

And you sort of think _what the fuck is he talking about_ , but mostly you just kind of.

Take him in, watch him gesticulate wildly in the carpeted, dimly lit hallway. 

_Expressive_ is the first thing you think about him. Your shoulders loosen just a bit. 

“Shit. Fuck. Yeah, sorry,” the troll continues, “I’m still not great with the um, human stuff… are you David Strider?”

His question breaks your trance.

“Huh? Oh yeah, that’s me man, but it’s just Dave.”. 

He squints at a piece of paper in his hand, “Wait so is this not…?”

“Nah you have the right information. Just no one calls me David. I don’t even know if you can count Dave as a nickname because it pretty much just feels like my real name. Like I’ll honestly forget that my god-given birth name is David. It won’t cross my mind for months at a time.”

The troll looks confused.

“Or not really god-given, don’t know why I said that like god for some reason cared enough about my name specifically to descend from the heavens and bestow it upon me like some sort of name giving tooth fairy. You put a tooth under your pillow and in the morning bam, there’s a name in its place. By the time you lose all of your baby teeth, you don’t know what to do with all the fucking name’s just piling up taking up every inch of space in your room. It’s more like Bro-given I guess. Don’t know why he gave me a name just to not call me it. Shit seems kind of sus. Kind of wack. Ya know?”

He’s looking at you like he really, really doesn’t know. 

You wince. One neat little feature of this guy being so expressive is that it’s so obvious he thinks you’re weird as fuck. 

“Uh anyways. Yeah that’s me, I’m Dave, new roommate and all that. What about you, do trolls have like names and stuff?”

“Do trolls have NAMES?” He looks incredulous, like he can’t tell if you’re kidding. You really don’t know yourself. You do know that you’ve barely spoken to him and you already need to cram about fifty socks in your mouth and never speak to him or anyone ever again. 

You wince harder, “I mean no, fuck, of course you have names. Didn’t want to be culturally insensitive and assume or whatever. If I ever see a troll out and about, I generally think that yeah, that’s the type of dude who looks like he has a name, so I’m sure you do too, uh.”

The troll blinks at you and then shakes his head like he needs to clear it of whatever bullshit you just spewed all over him.

“Whatever. It’s fine,” he shoves his hand at you and you guess you’re supposed to shake it. You hesitantly reach out and he grabs your hand tightly. What happens next you wouldn’t really describe as shaking. More like a strangling of your hand by his. It’s kind of alarming and you’re about to yank away when he starts talking.

“Uh, I had this thing planned,” he scrunches his brows for a second like he’s trying to remember something, then he squares himself and looks right at you. _Yellow with red_. Huh. You’ve never been close enough to a troll to notice the color of their eyes. 

He clears his throat again. “Hello David-- Dave Strider. My name is Karkat Vantas. I’m nine and a half sweeps old, that’s twenty point five two years, and I migrated to earth one year ago. I know english and also human etiquette, so you don’t have to worry about me putting sopor in the load gaper or using my claws to cut food. I like human pizza and romantic comedies. Um, what movies… do you like?

Rom-coms huh? His introduction, _Karkat’s_ introduction, was definitely rehearsed and you think that’s hilarious and honestly sort of endearing, but he’s still holding your hand and your heart is pounding at this prolonged contact and you have like, chronically sweaty hands and if you don’t do something about it immediately, he’s definitely gonna notice.

He sees you staring at your interweaved hands and pulls his away with a jolt. You wipe your palms on your jeans in a way you hope is subtle. 

“Oh. Sorry. Is that not--? I mean I thought humans… did that.” Karkat looks unsure. 

You notice he speaks with a slight lilt, like the pronunciations don’t come naturally to him, but besides that his english is basically fucking perfect. You feel a little bad. It’s obvious he’s trying so hard to assimilate. 

“Nah. No. You’re good man, no sweat. Well, maybe a little sweat. Heh. More importantly, I like any and all movies that are generally considered to be shit,” Karkat looks affronted at that, “and I don’t know what a load gaper is, but it’s cool if you put a little sopor in it every now and then, don’t feel like you can’t do your troll stuff here. I don’t mind. Where I lived before we definitely didn’t do things in traditional humany fashion, and hey, it’s your place too.”

Karkat looks surprised, “Wow, I mean uh, I thought they said humans hated troll stuff. But unfortunately your species’ plumbing isn’t fit to support slime of any sort.” 

“Oh is that what a load gaper is? Shit, yeah, I’m sure human toilets have nothing on your advanced, slime supporting troll toilets. Sorry about that. Uh, claws to cut food is definitely fine though.” You glance at his nails and are confused to see they look short and neat like any human’s would.

He seems suspicious. “But I just spent a year learning how to NOT do that. With knives and everything!”

“Dude _I_ don’t even use a knife to cut my food. I'm either, like, picking up the whole steak with my fork and biting into it like some sort of feral child, or I’m just using my fork to saw at it. I’m actually begging you to go absolutely ham with your troll eating. It’ll make me feel better about my terrible table manners.”

“Oh uh, ok. I might.” Karkat says quietly and fidgets, “Thanks.”

Your face is kind of warm. You nervously scratch the back of your head and process for the first time that he has a duffle bag slung over his shoulder too. Seems like he has even less stuff than you do. 

Shall we?” you ask. 

When you reach to unlock your new front door, your hands are steady. 

You turn the key and then knob, but the door doesn’t budge.

“Uh.”

“Let me,” Karkat grumbles and nudges you out of the way. 

With a violent rattle of the knob and a hard push, the door swings open.

“I was about to, uh, do that,” your face gets even hotter, but as Karkat stomps into your new home, you feel pretty okay.

________________________

It takes you all of 3 minutes to unpack. You have some clothes, a tooth brush, and 3 alternian movies you’d burned onto DVD, but most of the space in your duffle bag had been stuffed with all the romance novels you managed to fit when you fled Alternia. 

You’d brought all the best ones-- the ones with rampant quadrant vacillation, jaw dropping scandals, and tender slow burns-- but after all the time you spent alone with the books at the compound, you could really fucking use some new reading material. 

Kneeling on your mattress, you meticulously order them on the shelf above the bed in your tiny new respiteblock and then sit back to admire the display. 

You suppose it was generous of the compound to provide all the necessary furnishings, even if most of it is a little outdated if Dave’s commentary is anything to go by. 

He said he could “dig the retro look” as he flickered around the combined living area and narrow nutritionblock. The dark red shag rug, deep green velvet couch, and various chaotic patterns all over the lamps and curtains were an affront to your eyes, but Dave just shrugged and said it was a “70s thing.”

When Dave got a look at the ablution block, he let out a “ha!” so loud it startled you. Grumbling, you popped your head in and snorted when you saw a nutrition zapper on a tiny table right next to the load gaper. 

“A fucking _microwave_ in the goddamn _bathroom_ ,” Dave had muttered, incredulous, “unbelievable how hard we hit the jackpot with this sweet-ass crib.”

He wandered off to the smaller of the two already tiny bedrooms separated only by the ablution block, leaving you the larger one with a view of the small barkbeast-- ugh _dog_ park 6 stories below. 

And that just left you feeling. Hm.

During your classes at the compound, you were taught to minimize differences between yourself and humans. You were taught that if a human saw you acting in a way that framed you as “other”, they would feel even less inclined to be accepting and amiable towards trolls. That a troll would have to strive very hard for a human to not dislike them, especially in a shared living space. 

You always knew that at the end of your classes at the compound you would move in with a human roommate and “fully integrate” into human society, but as that date approached, no amount of foresight could have stopped your think pan from flipping its shit about every possible thing that could go wrong, every potential slip up that could cause your human roommate to be disgusted by you, to hate you. 

It was _you_ afterall, loud, grumpy, and just generally unbearable. 

By the time the compound car dropped you off at your new hive building, you had rehearsed your introduction to this _David Strider_ more times than you could count. 

What you weren’t expecting was for Dave Strider to be more freaked out than you were. It was obvious, the way he twitched as ceaseless babble spilled from his mouth, the way he fluttered around the apartment mumbling to himself, the way he _hid_ behind his ridiculous sunglasses even in the minimal light of the hallway and apartment. 

He was jittery and nervous as hell. But... he also seemed really, unbelievably _nice_. Like he wanted you to feel comfortable here.

You don’t know what to do with that.

You spend the next several hours holed up in your room messing around on your husktop. It’s weird sharing a hive with someone. Are you supposed to go out there and talk to him? You sort of want to in a weird, anxious way, but he probably just wants space, right? You start and stop two different movies because you’re too fidgety to stay focused. 

You listen for every sound Dave makes with bated breath. Dave uses the ablution block once and you tense up until he goes back into his room. You feel awkward and uncertain. Does he expect you to _hang out_ and you’re screwing this up big time? Or would that be presumptuous of you.

You had never considered how stressful the most mundane details of cohabitating could be. On Alternia, only pale partners lived together. 

Your stomach growls and you realize you have no food here. You groan. 

Yeah, the fact that New York City is home to a fuck ton of every kind of human food has been crammed down down your squawk gaper by every teacher and tour guide you’ve had, but acquiring what you want without any painful encounters or horrible mess-ups sounds goddamn impossible. And that’s only if food you can tolerate is within walking distance. You’re not even going to entertain the idea of navigating the subway system. 

You resign yourself to a hungry night. You’ll figure it out in the morning. Maybe if you give Dave your compound issued credit card and tell him to get whatever he wants, he would be okay with picking you up something tomorrow.

You’re debating if you can dart to the ablution block to brush your teeth without having a run-in with Dave when you hear a shuffle and some murmuring outside your door.

You freeze and listen. What is Dave doing? Does he want to give you shit for being rude as fuck all day? Something worse?

You breathe again when it sounds like his footsteps are receding. Then, there’s a pause, and in a hurry he’s walking back and softly tapping on your door three times. 

You slide off your bed and peek your head out the door. 

Sure enough, there’s Dave, and once again, seeing how apprehensive he looks makes you relax a little. 

He shifts and ruffles his hair, turning his head to the side while he talks. 

“Hey uh, Karkat, I’m sure you have like, really important troll business to be getting up to in here. Just like, massively important grubs to be attending to, or whatever it is you guys do with grubs, whatever grubs are,” he clears his throat, “but I’m all hells of hungry, and I really did not think of stocking up on chips and AJ and other essentials, and I figured maybe you’d be hungry too? Unless you brought food with you and already ate in here. Shit, sorry, I didn’t even think about that, I’m sure you’re not a dumbass like me. We can get food another time. Another time is fine. I’ll leave you to your grubbing… uh.”

Wow. Human’s blush so easily and obviously. 

“Ok, first of all, grubbing isn’t even a word, and second of all, turns out I am in fact a dumbass because I didn’t think to bring food either. You wanted to… get some?

Dave looks as relieved as you feel. 

“Sweet. Yes. That would be awesome. Is there anything you’re in the mood for?”

You don’t want to tell him you spent a year in this city without ever voluntarily leaving the compound. 

“You’re the human,” you respond, “Show me some good human food.”

“Really?” he gives a tentative grin, “Yeah, I can do that. There’s this sick ramen place a few subway stops from here. You good with that?”

“That word “ramen” is essentially meaningless to me. So yeah, it’s as good as anything else.”

“Sick. Oh one thing though. Summer in New York is like living inside of a giant, sweaty dude’s armpit. Are you sure you don’t want to like, change into something that will give you a little less heat stroke? Subways stations this time of year are like the seventh circle of hell. I say seventh circle and not the ninth circle because the ninth circle is actually full of ice according to whoever made that shit up. My sister told me that once when I complained to her about the heat.”

You look down at your turtleneck sweater and then up at Dave’s loose fitting t-shirt that reads “Thanksgiving Day Service at St. Patrick's Cathedral.”

You look down again. “I don’t really have anything else.” You shrug

“Hey no worries. No sweat. Well once again, there maybe is some sweat. But not for long because you can totally just borrow one of my t-shirts until you get more clothes of your own. I have amassed innumerable free t-shirts during my time living in this city. Like this one for instance,” he plucks at the shirt to show it off, “I’ll be right back.”

He bolts to his room while you wait in the doorway. Dave’s… giving you his clothes? You know humans don’t have quadrants so the implications are probably different, but come on, the guy you’re _living with_ just offered you his _shirt._ It doesn’t get paler than that. Some of the significance is lost because humans don’t wear shirts with their signs on them, but still. Your scent is gonna be fucking imbued into his clothes. Does that mean anything to Dave? Is that why he’s being so kind?

You check yourself. Humans are not trolls, and you’re not going to assume. This is earth and maybe for tonight you can do things the human way and accept that a shirt is just a shirt. Right? You will not read into this. You will not misinterpret a simple human gesture to mean that the first person to show you kindness on this godforsaken planet is vying to cozy up in one of your pathetic quadrants. 

You’re around humans now. Maybe you can try to act like it. Even embrace it.

Twenty seconds later Dave’s back with a shirt that reads “New York Public Library Blood Drive.”

You always kept your body as covered as possible because more coverage meant less chance of your blood color being exposed.

The thought of wearing such revealing clothing has you wringing your hands in apprehension, but you’re also a little… excited? 

As you close the door to quickly throw off your sweater and slip into his light, airy t-shirt that smells unfamiliarly soft and comforting, a sense of freedom overcomes you, and you think you feel what might be happiness for the first time in over a year.

Yeah… really nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you’re thinking. Two broke-ass kids living in a two bedroom apartment in Manhattan?!?! Don’t worry. There’s an explanation for everything ;)
> 
> Also, follow me on Tumblr where I reblog davekat and post fic stuff! I have 8 followers right now but I do my best for them :,) 
> 
> https://flagellvvm.tumblr.com/


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for roommate bonding :,)

The sky is dark over the towering hives on your short walk to the subway, but light from stores, streetlamps, and passing cars illuminate the night. Loud music in a human language that isn’t english fades in and out as a biker with a radio zooms past. The air is sticky, but a faint breeze rustles through the T-shirt you’re borrowing. It’s a sensation you’re not familiar with.

You walk in a tentative, friendly silence.

You’re beyond overwhelmed by the countless intersections and street signs, so you stick close to Dave without being too obvious and let your attention wander to every food stand, sunglass kiosk, outdoor restaurant, and building mural. 

Everything feels a lot less intimidating when you’re with someone who knows what he’s doing, and in the shade of night, no one pays you any attention. A few people pass who appear stranger than you. 

Suddenly, Dave is leading you down a flight of brightly lit steps nestled in the sidewalk that lead to an hub of bustling people and turnstiles. 

You’ve been in one of these once before. Then, you were with a group of at least 10 other trolls led by a loud, lecturing human who explained fruitlessly the difference between “uptown” and “downtown” and which train lines could take you to which “borough.” 

You had felt the heavy stares of every nearby human and wanted to lock yourself in your room and never set foot in a public space again, which is basically what you did. 

But as Dave shows you how to put money on your very own metrocard and laughs at you as you angrily swipe it through the sensor six times before successfully being granted access through the turnstile, everyone seems to pass by with barely a glance. 

Dave guides you through several turns and many flights of stairs in the muggy, fluorescent underground, and you follow blindly. Your stomach growls again.

Dave stops at a platform just as a subway pulls in.

“Oh shit, the six train. That’s my impeccable Strider timing for you,” Dave says, “Here, come over to this one. It’s less crowded.”

All the seats are taken in the car you follow him to, but it’s empty enough that you two are the only one’s standing. 

The train lurches forward and you stumble face first into Dave’s chest.

“Dude! Whoa. You gotta hold on to the pole man,” he laughs nervously and with both hands on your shoulders places you upright, “Can’t have you flying up and down the car at every bend.”

“Shit. Sorry,” you say quietly. You know your face is red, and even though that doesn’t matter on Earth, alarm bells are going off in your head. A few people are watching you now. Is Dave pissed at you for making a scene? For touching him? He’s definitely uncomfortable with the attention you’re bringing him. A young girl murmurs something to her guardian. You suddenly think leaving your respiteblock wasn’t such a good idea. You’re a mutant. You can’t be around all these people. It goes against everything you've ever taught yourself to do to _survive_. How the fuck did you think this would work out smoothly? It’s way too claustrophobic in here. 

“Karkat? Hey. Karkat. _Karkat._ ” Dave throws his arm around your shoulders and you startle hard. Then, the train rounds a sharp bend, and he’s the only thing keeping you in place.

When the ground is stable again, he gives your bare arm a squeeze before yanking away and covering his mouth with a fist he pretends to cough into. 

You grab onto the pole, just below Dave’s hand.

“Pretty sure every budding young subway rider has to fall all over the place on their first ride. It’s like a rite of passage. You’re doing everything right man,” then quieter, without looking in your direction, “It’s okay.”

You know you’re not “doing everything right” by any stretch of the imagination, but you were sort of startled out of your panic, and Dave’s weirdness is taking up all your attention, warming your insides. How is he so nice? _Why_ is he so nice?

You grumble in embarrassment at being so obvious, “I _know_ it’s okay.” You remind yourself that things are different on Earth.

“Ok. Good.”

Two minutes pass. The only sounds are the screeching starts and stops of the subway and the low murmur of others’ conversations. 

This time, it’s awkward. You don’t want it to be though. You think if you try to start a conversation, Dave would indulge you. Like it, even. 

“How in the fuck can you keep all this subway shit straight anyways?”

He latches onto the question with a grin. “Why Karkat? Are you impressed? Do you think I’m a seasoned, wordly city slicker?”

“You’ve sure gotten confident Strider. Fuck right off and forget I ever asked.” 

Okay, that was maybe a bit much. Dave just snickers.

“Nah man, actually I’ve just lived here forever. You get the hang of it after a while. I be up in these tunnels like a baby in the birth canal, just sliding around all smooth-like,” Dave does a sliding motion with his hand. “The journey is natural and the destination inevitable.” 

There’s the embarrassingness you’ve already come to expect. 

“Or wait,” Dave barrels on, “Do you know what a birth canal even is? Do you guys have those? I mean girl trolls I guess. Or maybe boy trolls too? Do _you_ have a birth canal. Or shit, that’s so inappropriate to even ask, right?”

“Uh, yeah! It is Dave. You just breached fifty fucking Alternian social codes by mentioning my birth canal. Maybe try being a little more culturally sensitive, nookwipe.”

“Oh my god, really?” 

“No!”

Dave stares at you blankly for a beat before throwing his head back and letting out the most genuine laugh you’ve seen from him, sort of a cackling, weezy giggle reminiscent of someone dying via several ribbitbeasts clogging their wind tube.

You wish you could say you find it as pan-meltingly abhorrent as you know you should.

Even though Dave quickly calms down and turns his head this way and that to see if anyone was watching him, It seems like he’s enjoying himself, and you’re feeling a little smiley yourself, so you refrain from commentary.

Minutes later, you’re at your stop. 

As Dave leads you through a strip of buzzing restaurants and bars, you recite how to order food in your thinkpan to stave off a wave of nervousness. Maybe all the embarrassing mock restaurant practice you had the misfortune of suffering through will be good for something. 

It’s not that there aren’t restaurants on Alternia. There are, but they involve significantly less... pleasantries, from what you’ve seen in movies anyways. 

You determine that the letters on the outside of the eatery are not English and head in hoping for the best. Inside the wood paneled restaurant, a woman leads you and Dave to stools at a high countertop facing a massive windowed wall that’s opened to the street beyond. 

“You good with ordering and shit?” Dave asks.

_No_

“Obviously. I went through posture pole aching practice for all this performative human bullshit. It would be pretty pathetic if I still needed someone to hold my hand and walk me through it like I’m a newly hatched wiggler.”

“Damn, you practiced this junk? Say no more, I’ll leave it to the ordering expert.”

Yep, you’ve totally got this, just a well assimilated troll at a human restaurant ordering human food with confidence and ease. Nothing to see here.

You go over everything you need to do in your thinkpan once again. The server will ask how you’re doing tonight. That’s when you say how you’re doing. But how you’re doing should always be “good”. Then you say what you want to eat following the proper structure, and it’s important to remember pleases and thank yous. 

If you don’t do all of that perfectly, humans will think you’re weird and rude and want you out of their restaurant. And as much as you don’t want strangers to think you’re freakish, even more so you really _really_ don’t want your new roommate to think you’re freakish. You want to show him that you can fit in with humans. He invited you, and you don’t want to let him down. You want Dave to like you. 

It’s been so long since you’ve had a friend.

You’re so deep in thought that when the waitress approaches and asks “What can I get for you tonight?”, you freeze up. She’s staring at you and you just know it’s because you’re an alien.

Dave leans in and whispers, “Psst. Do you want me to do it for you?”

“NO. I GOT THIS DAVE,” all sense of volume control abandons you in your anxiety.

“Are you sure?” he leans even further, “Seems like you're having a hard time over there.”

The waitress shifts awkwardly and says, “Uh, I can come back--”

“NO!” You clear your throat loudly. The waitress’s eyes get big. You can do this. “HI. I’M DOING WELL. THANK YOU. CAN I-- MAY I PLEASE HAVE. ONE... RAYMEN. PLEASE. MAY I. DID I SAY THAT ALREADY?”

You hit every requirement, but somehow still miss the mark. In fact, if the mark was somewhere on Earth, your shot landed all the way back on Alternia. You hunch in on yourself in humiliation.

The waitress hovers, looking unsure. You chance a peak at Dave. 

He has the audacity to be staring at you with the most incredulous, awestruck, open-mouthed _grin_ you’ve ever seen. And then there’s that godawful laugh again. “Actually make that two!”

After Dave clears some things up with the waitress (because apparently you misremembered how Dave said it and it’s actually pronounced “RAHmen” and there are many _kinds_ of ramen and _varieties_ of noodles), you sit there quietly staring at the cars and people passing outside the window and give yourself the mental flagellation you deserve for acting so bizarrely.

Dave doesn’t seem upset with you, and you’re beyond relieved. You’re still embarrassed as fuck, but he’s really not treating you like you’re the mutated alien freak that you know you are. 

You think about how strange this all is. How much your life has changed in the past year. How much it’s changed in the past day. 

There’s things you want to ask him. How long has he lived here? Did he have another roommate before you? Why hasn’t he taken off his sunglasses once? But this time, you don't have the confidence to break the silence. 

You notice Dave fiddling with two long, thin sticks that are tapered at the end. He’s holding them between his fingers on his left hand and pinching them together to pick up random junk lying on the counter. You look around and notice that others in the place seem to be using the same sticks to carry food to their mouths. Looks like the restaurant even set out sticks for you. 

While repeatedly picking up and dropping his apartment key with the mysterious sticks, Dave speaks. “Something really kind of funny and weird is this is my first time actually ever like, eating out with someone. That’s funny right?” there’s a pause, “Okay, now that I’ve said it out loud, it really sounds more pathetic than funny. Like wow, the secrets out, despite my reserved, chill as fuck image and hip ass shades, I don’t have any friends.” Dave winces at himself and once again you’re amazed at how visibly red a human’s face can become. “I mean of course I fucking have friends. Just. None I’ve ever met. Everyone is just too intimidated by the impassive, impenetrable Strider barrier of cool. Haha.”

Your blood pusher kind of squeezes at his painfully awkward admission. You’d forgotten in your supreme unease that Dave clearly does not have it completely together either. He might be excellent at city navigation, but he sure as fuck isn’t excellent at interaction navigation. That much is obvious.

As much as you want to play it cool and pretend like you have an even remotely existing social life, you’re not enough of a bulgewad to leave Dave hanging like that. “It’s um, my first time too, in case you didn’t pick that up from my spectacularly shame globe shriveling display a minute ago.”

“Dude, that was so great, don't even worry about it.”

You don’t know what could possibly be “so great” about any shred of competence and dignity you had fucking right off into the garbage when it mattered most. Something about Dave Strider is not normal. 

“Hey, do you wanna be a totally chill cool earth dude with me and get a beer or something?” Dave asks. “This place doesn’t card.”

“Beer…? Oh. Uh, actually, human alcohol is a fuck ton more potent for trolls. Drinking was like exhibit fucking A of what not to do in a situation like this. Unless I want to land ass first in the hospital, or worse, dead in a reeking, trash filled New York City alley, I’d better not.”

“Oh shit yeah. We do not want you to go on a troll bender and wake up surrounded by doctors and surgeons who have no fucking clue how to pump a troll stomach so they just watch as your life force slip the fuck away because their training did not cover the wonders alien biology. We do not want that.”

“Fucking exactly.”

Dave signals to the waitress and orders a drink for himself. Shortly after, she returns with Dave’s alcohol and two bowls full of liquid and what you wish were worms but know are noodles because this is fucking Earth. 

You eye the stick utensils warily. You’ve got forks and knives in the goddamn bag, but this is entirely new territory. Dave said he was okay with you using your claws to eat, but that’s not possible right now for so many fucking reasons.

Dave grabs his utensil sticks between his fingers and uses them to lift the wormy noodles to his mouth before glancing at you.

You quickly look away, grab your sticks, and try to place them between your fingers in a way that looks similar to Dave. You attempt to pick up the noodles with the sticks and it’s fucking impossible. They keep alluding you, sliding all over the place as your sticks fail to properly close in on them. You take a stab at a piece of meat and the utensil pierces it through. 

“Fucking finally,” you mutter and lift the meat to your mouth to take a bite out of it. As you sink your teeth into it, you notice Dave staring at you. 

“What?” The question is muffled by the food in your mouth. Were you baring your fangs too aggressively? You thought you were doing a good job of hiding them. 

“Do you realize how comically, just straight up endearingly alien you are? It’s like you’re doing an extended bit or something, except it’s entirely _au naturale_. It’s like someone yanked you out of a children’s sci-fi book and launched you into reality and now you go around amazing everyone by using “human” as an adjective and being all delightfully flabbergasted and perplexed by normal Earth stuff. It’s insane man.”

Your heart sinks. “That’s not a good thing,” you mumble, “I can’t-- I can’t even use these things right,” you wave your sticks around. 

“What, chopsticks? A lot of humans around here don’t even know how to use them. If you’re really so hung up about it, I’ll show you how to do it. Here.”

Dave walks you through how to place them in your hand and the right way to pinch them together. You follow with rapt attention. 

“So then you just bring it to your mouth… yeah! Like that!” he laughs. 

You chew and swallow your noodles and then look at Dave with a proud, closed-mouth smile. “This is good!”

“Right!?” Dave takes a big gulp of his beer and makes a face.

While Dave eats and you manage to transport a few more bites from the bowl to your mouth, he launches into a story about this time a guy on the subway sold him three movies with covers promising various John Travolta “masterpieces” that all ended up being identical copies of the Parent Trap.

Dave is a little flushed and seems to be loosening up thanks to his beer. Is such a small amount of alcohol that potent for humans? It would normally take at least more than one glass of any troll substance to have an effect.

“But the thing is,” he’s saying, “each time I put in a DVD only to discover it was also the Parent Trap, I would just sit there and let it happen. I wouldn’t care enough to stop watching it so I ended up watching each individual copy of Parent Trap! Haha! It was so fucking stupid.”

“Fuck it. Give me some of that,” you reach over and grab his pint glass. You take a medium sized gulp and immediately feel warmer. 

“Whoa! Karkat! I’m not gonna have you kicking the bucket on me tonight, am I?”

“Doing _what_ on you? What kind of sick human euphemism…”

As the drink makes its way through your system, you get a little giddy. You never consumed any pan-altering substances on Alternia. It’s not like it was a matter of legality. Hell, the whole planet was inhabited by children who culled each other for sport. You just couldn’t risk being sloppy in case a drone came patrolling. 

“How do you feel? Do you feel boozy? Do you feel death-y?” Dave asks, concern in his voice. “I don’t want to be convicted of enabling a troll overdose tonight.” 

“Please. That much isn’t going to kill me. I--” your body sways off the side of the stool and Dave catches you for the second time tonight.

Dave smells just like his shirt that you’re wearing. You feel really good.

Dave rights you, looking concerned. He shouldn’t be. You just feel warm and languid. Maybe a little tired, but in a nice way. 

You pick up your entire bowl of ramen and tip a big gulp down your throat. It heats up your stomach. “God Dave, this stuff really _is_ good.”

Dave, still looking worried, gives a reluctant smile. “Well, good. Just let me know if you feel like you’re gonna start projectile vomiting anytime soon so we can get you to a bathroom. I have no clue how many troll drinks that sip equates to.”

“You do it too, you know.”

“Huh?”

“You use troll as an adjective.”

“Oh.”

“David, this shirt… is nice.”

“Uh.”

“...You’re nice.” You slurp down a bunch of noodles and then rest your head in your hands. Your face feels warmer than it’s ever been. 

When you look at Dave, he’s busying himself with finishing off the last of his food, cheeks tinted once again. 

You watch a woman walk past with two barkbeasts and think about how well the night air coming through the window contrasts with the toasty feeling of your body. You really aren’t drunk, just… a little less inhibited. You hope. Whatever. Dave is the one that first suggested you both drink so he probably doesn’t care that you’re a bit tipsy. As long as you stick close to Dave, you’ll be safe. You subtly put your nose to your shoulder to smell his shirt. 

The waitress comes back with a check for Dave to sign and you realize belatedly that he already paid for both of you. Just like in your romance novels. Ok, no Karkat, don’t go there. Don’t fucking go there like you always fucking do. Yeah, Dave’s really nice. Unbelievably nice. No one’s ever treated you this kindly before. But humans don't have fucking pale. They don’t have fucking any of it. They kind of have flushed, but it’s simultaneously more than that and less than that, and at most, Dave is just trying to be your human _friend_. You breathe in the scent of his shirt a second time as unnoticeably as you can.

Dave startles you by swinging out of his seat. “Alright Karkat, let’s get you out of here. You ok to walk?”

“Yes Dave, I can wa-“ you hop out of the stool and wobble for a second before forcing yourself to stand stick straight, “walk.”

Dave gives you a skeptical look and you take a step forward to prove him wrong. It’s a fine step. You’re not wasted out of your mind or anything. You take another, and it’s still fine. Pretty straight. But maybe the fact that you’re deeply contemplating the status each individual step isn’t the most sober thing to do.

“Just-“ Dave places a palm between your shoulder blades and you jump a little. He steers you out of the place, shouting a thank you to the woman who served you. 

When you make it outside, he removes his hand and you miss the security of it.

“Back home?” he asks. How strange. Back to your home. Your shared home. Together. 

Then you think about riding the subway feeling like this. About enclosed spaces and falling all over the place.

“Uh, yeah...” you find yourself biting your lip in anxiety.

Dave seems to abruptly change his mind. “Actually, since we’re here, let’s check out the park. You ever been?”

You’re relieved. You have literally been nowhere, but you keep that to yourself and just shake your head. 

“It’s right where that arch is,” Dave points to a towering, squared white arch a block away. 

“Do you need me to-?” Dave motions to your torso without looking at you, his way of asking if you need him to help you walk.

“Oh,” you blush for the millionth time tonight. How did you ever survive as long as you did on Alternia? You’re acting like a complete idiot, and the alcohol definitely isn’t helping. “N- no. I’ll be fine.”

You take a few decently steady steps. “See? Goddamn masterful.”

“Wow Karkat, did they teach you that in your human 101 classes too?” 

You laugh.

Dave crosses the street and starts down a dimly lit, off-road path that cuts through some grass and trees. You hurry after him, head feeling blurry and cottony in a pleasant way. 

You’re thinking: This is weird. This is fun. 

Overall you’re a little too fuzzy to properly process all the emotional whiplash you’ve experienced tonight. 

You reach a plaza with a giant fountain in the center and people everywhere. You stop and stare at everything. It’s just _interesting_.

There are booths set up along the large, circular plaza with paintings and signs reading things like “CARICATURES HERE” and “SAVE OUR EARTH.” What does Earth need saving from. An Alternian invasion? Young humans race each other around the fountain on scooters while an older human yells after them. The benches are filled with talking and laughing people, and the grassy areas beyond the plaza are littered with blankets occupied by family units and friend groups. Some girls sit in a line on a blanket braiding one another’s hair.

To your right is that arch. It has to be at least three stories high. It doesn’t seem to house any people or businesses. It just sits there. On Alternia, there was no such thing as architecture without a purpose. Every young troll could build their own hive, and there were places to purchase food, clothing, and supplies, but beyond that, anything would just be considered needless excess. 

“Let’s find somewhere to sit,” Dave says.

You walk so close to him that you have to make a conscious effort to keep your arm from brushing against his. You’re mesmerized by the tall stream of water flowing out of the fountain you’re approaching, and when someone taps you and Dave on the back, you both jump.

“Yo, can I do a magic trick for you guys?” a guy who looks a little younger than Dave asks.

Dave catches your eyes questioningly. You just shrug. What the hell is a magic trick.

“Uh sure,” Dave says, “go for it man.”

“Alright, nice.”

The boy’s gaze lingers on you for a second before he fans out a bunch of playing cards in his hand and pushes them towards you. “Alright, pick a card.”

You cautiously scan the deck before deciding on one all the way to the right.

You’re perplexed as he has you look at the card and then shove it back into the pile without showing him.

The boy mixes the cards with skill. “Now, I’m going to tell you which one of these is your card.”

“What? How?” your face scrunches.

“Is…” the boy moves his hand towards Dave’s face. You notice Dave flinches almost imperceptibly, but then the boy is yanking back with your exact card in his hand, as if he pulled it from behind Dave’s ear, “ _this_ your card?”

“WHAT THE FUCK! YES! IT IS! HOW DID IT GET BACK THERE?”

Dave and the boy look at each other before bursting out laughing.

“Karkat dude, card behind the ear is like, _the_ classic magic trick.” Dave looks at the guy, “Not that you didn’t absolutely blow us out of the water. Your trick is a whale’s little water blowing hole and we’re just being propelled upwards and straight out of the ocean with it’s force. Some grade A shit right there.”

“So fucking weird… I didn’t know humans had abilities like that…” you grumble, but you can’t deny that you’re really impressed. 

“It’s all sleight of hand, my troll friend,” the magical boy says. “You are a troll, right? Not just a guy dressed up in a really realistic costume?”

“Uh… yeah,” you shift awkwardly.

“Nice. Never met one before. Cool stuff.”

“Heh. Yeah.”

You kind of can’t believe it. Maybe it’s just because you’re not sober, but you think that you just had another pretty decent human interaction. It seems like all parties experienced enjoyment, and you really couldn't ask for anything more.

You feel happy as you clumsily follow Dave the rest of the way to the massive fountain. There are a few teens with their pants rolled up splashing each other in the shallow water. You and Dave sit on one of the tiered steps encircling the fountain. 

There’s a group of old people on benches nearby playing instruments you’ve never seen and singing in a slow, syncopated rhythm. The fountain is gushing, and the droplets that spray you feel nice in humidity. 

For the first time since coming to Earth, you feel like you're actually taking part in human life. You kind of feel like you belong. You’re not just a spectacle here. There’s a shirtless man riding a skateboard with his barkbeast sitting on the front. Your alien status is just one of the many strange pieces of the chaotic puzzle. 

Dave is humming along to whatever slow song the musicians are playing. You honest to god resist the urge to lean against him, and you’ve hardly touched another person in your life

After a while of sitting and listening and watching, your buzz wears off somewhat and you both leave to take the subway home. The car is fairly empty, and the two of you are able to sit next to one another. With Dave by your side, you doze off a little, leaning your head on the window behind you. It’s so cool in here. The AC is blowing right on you from above, cooling the sweat on your skin. Occasionally water droplets leak from it, but you’re too tired to move. 

Soft conversations around you fill your waning consciousness as the subway speeds up with high pitch whirs and stops with drawn out screeches. Dave jostles you lightly at your stop.

You’re sluggish on the walk from the station to your hive. It has to be the middle of the night by now. You thought humans slept during the night, but lots of stores are still open.

“Are people um…” you think of the word that you were taught describes trolls, “nocturnal here? Why is shit open so late?”

Dave laughs and you feel accomplished.

“Honestly, kind of? Lots of people do go to bed at normal hours, but everyone sort of does their own thing. Some of these delis are open 24 hours and that’s actually goddamn convenient because...” Dave delves into a story about a time he stayed up for three days straight trying create a concept album where the concept was “how dumb can I make this shit”, and how the “sweet and merciful” corner deli provided him snacks throughout his endeavor. 

As you listen and hum in response every now and then, you feel pretty fucking at peace, if a little sleepy. It’s really nice that Dave wants to tell you this stuff and that he talks to you like you’re his friend.

You trek up the six flights to your hive exhaustedly. In your hive, Dave fumbles around in the nutritionblock, getting a glass of water while you brush your teeth.

He catches you on the way back to your respiteblock. 

“Hey, thanks for like, coming Karkat. Hope you're not too behind on your grubbing now. It was, yeah. It was fun. I hope you had fun.”

You give a small smile. “I’ll make up all of my crucial troll grubbing another day. I did though. Have fun I mean. Thanks Dave. Thank you.”

You can’t bring yourself to take off his sweaty shirt before climbing into bed, turning on your window air conditioner, and sinking into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real ones know that Dave has an ugly laugh.
> 
> Also, I swear I have a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why Karkat uses weird troll vocabulary even though he learned English on earth. All will be revealed in time.
> 
> [Come talk to me on Tumblr where I reblog davekat and post fic stuff!](https://flagellvvm.tumblr.com/) Yes, it's true, I have the generic tumblr theme :( Lame :(


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